


The Tip of his Sword

by dontwaitupxx



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: #thirsty-and-in-denial-Zelda, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Masturbation, Pre-Calamity Ganon, Sexual Frustration, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:48:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26003698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontwaitupxx/pseuds/dontwaitupxx
Summary: He really couldn’t take a hint, it seemed. Try as she might to make him feel unwelcome, there he was, always three steps behind her or standing just beyond their excavation, the tip of his sword digging into the ground as he looked coolly beyond.Indeed, she has some better uses for the tip of his sword.
Relationships: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 138





	The Tip of his Sword

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: The real reason Zelda initially shows such a abhorrence to Link is because she’s secretly heads-over-heels for him and refuses to show it. Her pride is on the line, after all.

There are rumors floating about the castle: rumors that Princess Zelda is head-over-heels for her appointed knight.

But of course she isn’t. She is the Crown Princess of Hyrule. It would be unseemly for her to think about her knight attendant in that way.

Indeed, it would be uncouth for her to think about the way his hands rest upon her hips, large and rough and hot, adjusting her stance during archery practice. It would be improper for her to think about his sharp gaze, those blue irises piercing straight through her, turning her legs to jelly and rendering her utterly useless.

It would be inappropriate for her to think about him pushing her roughly against her desk in her tower, knocking over all of her books and tomes on the Ancient Sheikah – priceless first editions, how dare he – as his hands grasp her hips, her thighs, her breasts. Absolutely unbecoming for her to imagine him trailing hot kisses from the curve of her jaw, all the way down, down, down the column of her neck, as his fingers trail across her skin like a serpent, sliding closer and closer –

Nope. She most certainly is not head-over-heels for Link.

Erhm… her appointed knight.

She turns over in bed and screams into her pillow, the sound muffled as she tries to clear her mind of him. He is _always there,_ the insufferable thing. How dare he. She has much more important things to focus on, like unlocking her Sacred Powers – which, mind you, she is doing her very best at, thank you very much – or discovering more secrets that the Ancient Sheikah left behind in the wake of the prophecy.

She doesn’t have the time to be thinking about her knight stripping her down to her socks, pinning her to the wall – with his one hand tangled in her hair, the other touching her _there_ , smirking against her ear as he whispers _uncouth_ things to her, pushing into her from behind –

Nope. Definitely not head-over-heels for her knight.

She clearly isn’t going to get any sleep that night, and so she whips the covers off of her and swings her legs over the side of her bed, wincing as her warm feet hit cold, unforgiving stone. She fetches her robe from the bedpost, tying the thin, silk tie at the front and steps barefoot across her room.

A warm breeze drifts in from her open windows. Summer is in full swing, and it is no secret that it is one of Zelda’s favorite seasons. The warmer months mean freedom: it means adventures into the wild to study the fauna, expeditions with Purah and Robbie to some Ancient Sheikah excavation. Her father doesn’t approve, but he knows that mother would have said yes, and thus he doesn’t protest.

Guards patrol the courtyard beneath her balcony and bridge to her tower. Rather than being seen and causing even _more_ rumors to float about the castle, Zelda sticks to the shadows. Summers spent with the Sheikah do wonders for her now, as she disappears in plain sight. Perhaps that had been a mistake for her father to send her away in the years following her mother’s death. Impa had been reluctant to guide her in the ways of the Sheikah, but where Impa was hesitant, Purah was awfully enthusiastic.

She makes it across the bridge, with the door to her study shutting with an inaudible click. Here, she lights a candle, her study awash with the flickering flame licking shadows up and down her body. She sits down in her worn out chair, her fingers trailing her notes from where she last left off.

Ah, yes. Academics. This was the one thing that her appointed knight absolutely could _not_ touch – _oh, how she desperately aches for his touch._ She and Purah had last been studying the ancient shrines off in the Tabantha region. From their most recent research, they concluded that the shrines were meant to be accessed by the Sword’s chosen one.

And the Sword… had chosen _him._

Not to be dramatic, but what in Nayru’s name was the Goddess Hylia thinking in choosing _him?_ Everything came so naturally to him: his ability with the sword, his speed and strength, his stunning good looks… He hardly has to work for his success, and yet Zelda is stuck trying day in and day out to unlock a sacred power that she is starting to believe she didn’t inherit.

She sighs, tilting her head back on her chair. Ever since her father had appointed _him_ as her knight, she hardly ever got a moment to herself. These days, field expeditions with the Sheikah included her, Purah, Robbie… and _Link._

He really couldn’t take a hint, it seemed. Try as she might to make him feel unwelcome, there he was, always three steps behind her or standing just beyond their excavation, the tip of his sword digging into the ground as he looked coolly beyond.

Indeed, she has some better uses for the tip of his sword.

She sighs, her eyes drifting closed as her legs part just enough. She can think of some ways he might better utilize it. He might lift her so her ass is on her desk, her legs parted as he steps forward. Her legs would wrap around his hips as he presses his lips to hers, kissing her filthily, all tongue and teeth. He would slowly push into her, hissing into her shoulder while she suppresses her moan. They can’t have the castle hear them, now can they? Her pride is on the line, after all.

She might shove him down onto her bed – a place she’s told no place but her husband should lie – and straddle his hips, grinding hers in perfect, languid circles before finally – _slowly_ – sinking down onto him, biting her lip as she watches his usually stoic facade crumble.

He might adjust the rotations of the Royal Guard – he is the Captain, after all – so that her bridge and the courtyard below are deserted in some part of the night. Then, with not a soul in sight, he would brace her against the railing of the bridge, fucking her senseless as she muffles her moans, his fingers digging crescent shape marks into her hips where only she would see –

She comes quickly – fingers moving desperately within her and practiced against her clit. She tilts back in her chair slightly, riding out the orgasm as a small moan escapes from her lips.

She tilts back in her chair _too_ far.

She comes down from her orgasm as she comes down with a crash, a loud yelp escaping her lips as she rolls to soften the fall. She lays there, underwear tangled around her ankles as she breathes heavily, the sweet cerulean of the moon reflected on her stone bridge being replaced with the soft flicker of the candlelight.

Then: commotion.

“Princess?”

The voice is closer than she would have liked, and even more horrifying: it’s _his._ She stumbles to her feet, her eyes wild as she yanks her underwear up wobbling legs. Hastily, she wipes her fingers along the side of her nightgown, before running them through her hair, trying to make herself not look so… so…

Disheveled.

She hears footsteps on the bridge – running, she can tell. She hasn’t responded, and she knows that he has assumed the worst. Princesses only don’t respond when they’ve been captured or otherwise compromised.

Because apparently, just trying to work through her own frustration with her disgustingly perfect knight isn’t a good enough reason.

She is frantically replacing her chair on its legs and smoothing out her nightgown when –

The door to her study is whipped open. He stands there, his eyes dangerous and his sword unsheathed – _stop thinking about his unsheathed sword._ She stands there, trying and failing to control her panting, wide-eyed and guilty as _fuck_ – _don’t think about that, you terrible, foolish girl._

It’s him, because of course it’s him, it’s _always_ him. He now looks relieved to see her – she’s safe, there’s no threat – but then those eyes squint in suspicion. She had yelled out but she was safe. So then, _why?_

Then, his nose crinkles.

And Zelda wants to drown herself in the castle moat.

Zelda speaks first and it’s more of a babble, “What in Hylia’s name are you doing here? I can’t get some late night studying in without being barged in by my knight? I’m not a child.”

“I heard you yell out and then a crash. I only came to make sure you were alright,” his voice is calm and leveled and she has to fight against her instinct to get lost in it.

“I toppled out of my chair while looking over the ancient Sheikah shrines in the Tabantha region,” She does _not_ need to explain herself and yet here she is, chattering away at something his peanut sized brain couldn’t hope to comprehend, “As you can see, I am perfectly fine.”

He seems distracted, now that there’s no immediate threat. It’s odd, considering he is _never_ distracted. His eyes dart around the small study, looking everywhere and anywhere _except_ at her. Slowly, he sheaths his sword, and the moment stretches out, the only sound between them the grind of his sword against his scabbard.

She tries not to think about that too hard.

“I can see that.”

Oh?

“Then why are you still here?”

That reaction was uncalled for and she knows it, but she’s strung up and panicking and _sweet Nayru_ just take her soul now.

Link blinks and he takes a step back. She can hear the gears shifting in his head. She hates how methodical he is, hates how _thoughtful_ and _polite_ he is.

She wants to make it perfectly clear that she cannot _stand_ her gorgeous appointed knight.

“I apologize, Princess,” he murmurs, his eyes finally reaching hers. His sharp, blue eyes still her and she thinks that she can scarcely breathe. _How dare he_ , “Do you require any further assistance?”

She would be lying if she said she doesn’t.

Instead, she draws upon her wrath, “I beg your pardon?”

“I can call on your maids to draw up a bath,” Link says, quickly, and though it’s dark, she swears she can see a distinct flush upon his cheeks, “Or call upon the kitchens to send something up to help you sleep.”

Sleep. Goddesses know she is the furthest thing away from sleep.

“That won’t be necessary,” she whispers, hoping that the venom on her tongue will hold _his_ tongue. _Oh – the things that man could do with his tongue._

Hylia preserve her.

“You’re dismissed, Sir Link,” she manages to say.

She walks past him, back across the bridge, specifically averting her gaze from the railing of the bridge, facing a perfectly full moon.

“As you command, my Princess,” he whispers, and she wants to scream.

She hates him so _very_ much.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a firm 180 from works that I usually do, but I'm getting out of my comfort zone! This was written in response to a prompt challenge on Tumblr by [intangiblyyourswrites](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/intangiblyyourswrites). Check out the tag #thirsty-and-in-denial-Zelda on Tumblr for more submissions!
> 
> As always, you can follow me on tumblr for more shit like this at [dontwaitupxx](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/dontwaitupxx)


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